


Hidden Lessons

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [58]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 58: Mask.  San Francisco arc continues.  Lessons and contemplation for the Winchester Family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.
> 
> No disrespect is intended towards the faith of Santeria, as a matter of fact, just the opposite - it's a very beautiful, complex culture.

Sam sits up straight at the kitchen table, trying to avoid rubbing his eyes, face a mask of concentration. He’d been talking for over an hour, reciting a long list of lessons, starting with the first things Missouri ever taught him, on to Jim’s lessons, and through everything Mathieu had taught him over the last week. As he wound down to a close, Mathieu placed a tall glass of sweet tea in front of him, and smothered a grin. John and Dean were both staring openly at their boy. Mathieu knew exactly what prompted the astounded looks. Not all of the time he’d spent with Sam was teaching time, and he was pretty sure that the other two Winchesters underestimated the boy’s intelligence and memory recall.

Mathieu was pleased with the reaction from both the men, actually. He intended to see that Sam got a well deserved reward of either an afternoon’s rest, or a romp through Mathieu’s library, a pleasure so far denied to the boy. Then he’d speak with the other two, hand out some much needed advice about how to handle someone who was brilliant, and fairly incapable of paying attention to day to day incidentals. They’d been coping well, so far as he could see, but there was definitely room for improvement.

“Well, Samuel. Well done.” The boy’s face lit up at the praise, the pleased look faintly marred by confusion. “What is it, lad? You deserve the praise. There’s nothing more I can give you, or teach you, unless you decide to spend a year as an initiate, boy. I will do one thing though. Wait here for a moment.” He hadn’t been able to make the decision until now. The readings had all shown it to be a good one, and the babalawo of his house had agreed. They’d watched Sam at his lessons one night, and the babalawo had laughed, telling Mathieu he should be glad the boy wasn’t his, recognizing what a handful he could be even though Sam was quietly seated and concentrating well at the time. He returned, half expecting the silence that was still resounding in the room. Sam was obviously exhausted again. He walked up behind the boy and dropped a set of beaded necklaces over Sam’s head.

“What?” His tone was startled. “But Mathieu – elekes-“

“Can be given as protection. They are for the orisa I know will look out for you. There were readings done. Do you need instruction on how to care for them?”

“I, no, Mathieu – I know – I just… For one thing, I don’t have an altar.”

“I think that should change, my boy. No-“ he said, holding up a hand to stop the protest that was about to come from all three men. “There are ways, my friends. I’ve been thinking on this. Samuel and I will address the issue tomorrow morning.”

The Winchesters grinned. Mathieu had any number of elaborate altars about the house and in the gardens – the altars of a Santeria practitioner were pieces of art in and of themselves. Seeing if Mathieu could come up with something they could travel easily with, something that would be fast to grab and run with, well, that’ll be interesting.

“Samuel, you have the gift of the afternoon and evening to yourself. Rest, or go play in the library, little boy. I’ll have something worked out for you by the morning.”

John cleared his throat. “That’s it, then. We shouldn’t-“

“Oh, but you will. You’ll stay a few days until Samuel is rested, and is comfortable with the new routines in his mediation practices. Humor me on this, John Winchester. Samuel, shoo.”

Sam gleefully headed for the library. It was more likely he’d fall asleep the second he sat down, but at least he could do it with a book in his hand for once.

John waited until his youngest son had cleared the room before dropping his face into his hands. “It isn’t so much that I feel we’re imposing, Mathieu, but to be three weeks everywhere Sam needs to go?”

Mathieu gave the man a stern look. “It’s likely. You need to change your goals, though, old man. Find a hunt. Then go on to that shaman who did those gorgeous tattoos for all of you.”

“A hunt? We promised Sam-“

“Does a little boy always know what’s best for him? I’ll be the first to admit its critical that he learn how to pull these abilities under control as they develop. But think on this. When you taught him a new hand-to-hand technique, did you teach them all at once, or did you spread them out over time, giving him a chance to acclimate to the new knowledge in between.”

Something very much like relief dawned over both John and Dean’s faces.

“I’d put it to him a little differently – and I have a word for you two military types. That child is a thinker – no, I realize you know that. I see why the boys here have started their little power play between them – Dean, you have the right idea. I just want to suggest a few ways you refine it. I’ve met a few people like Sam in my time, and brilliant as they are, they need help with practical matters, sad as that sounds.”

Both of the Winchesters look a little bewildered, and Matheiu laughs.

“You heard him recite those lessons. Could either of you have done that? No? I didn’t think so. John, you’ve done an amazing job in my opinion – but the boy’s always going to need someone to watch out for him. I’ve seen it too many times.”

Dean bristled at that. “He’s got us,” he says, in a terse, belligerent voice.

“Yes, he does,” returns the mild tone. “And the two of you are going to try and think for him, from here on out. Let him do what he’s good at, take that pressure off of him. Let’s chat, gentlemen.”

Sam’s stretched out on one of the leather couches in the library, a book on his stomach, half asleep. He can hear the voices in the kitchen, vaguely aware that the men are likely discussing him, but the energy it would take to get up, object, and negotiate a protest just isn’t there. Thoughts idly drifting, he mentally touches each one of the new protections from the inside, softly, feeling the fabric of the ideas buttressing his mind. They’re comforting, even though he knows he is still vulnerable. He lets the flood of his pent up emotions wash up against the sturdy bulwarks, careful to keep them within the new mental shields. No longer is he afforded the liberty of just letting go.

The voices in the kitchen grow a little louder, and he lets his emotions drain away, back into his center. The exercise is familiar and comforting, and given Mathieu’s comment about having the evening off, maybe this would be a good time to ask the older Top a few questions. Sam strokes the leather wristband. The times Dean’s topped him, it’s a good emotional release, and Sam wants to know if it’s a good idea to continue, wants to know if it’s something he can ask Dean for. He worries about that part of their relationship, sometimes, afraid Dean will get tired of him.

At least he’s got some time, he thinks, to ask the questions of Mathieu. The older man made it pointedly clear before he called the family to the table and began questioning Sam that there wasn’t any more teaching he could do, so now that the man’s not in the position of Sam’s headmaster, he’s more willing to ask the questions of him. It’s going to be hard to pull away his mask of academia, his mask of indifferent belligerence to ask those questions of the old santero, but fingering the elekes around his neck, he thinks the man cares enough to answer. Sam can’t ask for much more.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: Patti Griffin - Rain


End file.
